


Take a Break (and break my heart)

by sammyspreadyourwings



Series: Queen Prompts [39]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Communication Failure, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hot Space Era, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Making Up, Multi, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 05:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20634170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyspreadyourwings/pseuds/sammyspreadyourwings
Summary: Brian learns the hard way that you can't force things to work when they simply don't.





	Take a Break (and break my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> I like this take but it is another Hot Space Era fic.  
Read tags, they are spoilery though. And this also got a little longer than expected so that's why it gets a straight to A03 post

“Well if you want a solo so fucking bad why don’t you record your own album?”

“The hell am I supposed to do on stage if I don’t have anything to play?”

“Right, it’s all about you! Everything has to be about Brian May, or it doesn’t bloody matter!”

“That’s not what I’m saying. If you’d just listen!”  
“Ah, I was wondering when we’d get to this. Brian May wanting to be the only voice heard.”

“For fuck’s sake –”

Brian is certain that he started the fight. He had snapped at John for something that he did, and then it just spiraled. John is easier to bait into fights these days. They all are, Roger picks fights rather than holding his ground and Freddie makes it so easy to argue. He’s so angry these days, half the time he wants to throw a guitar into the wall. So, he doesn’t hold the Red Special when he’s not using her, afraid that he would.

It would be a rather symbolic end.

He steps out of the studio. John’s last words ringing in his head, fading into the near muffled sounds he’s been hearing lately. Brian presses his back against the wall around the corner from the studio. He won’t give them the satisfaction of seeing how far they’ve burrowed into his heart. The tears sting at his eyes, but he doesn’t cry.

What is the fucking point anymore?

“Ah, Brian,” Paul smiles kindly.

Brian scowls.

“Studio session not going well?” Prenter settles across from him.

He crosses his arms and blinks his eyes.

“I wonder when they’re going to give up the guitar pieces.”

It is too casual. Brian bristles at the words.

“They aren’t.”

“No, but John is an excellent guitarist.”

He glances up. Prenter looks deep in thought, almost mournful. Brian doesn’t him poking at the same thoughts Brian has had a hundred times when he decided that he’s going to hole up in his study for the night. Well. It’s less of his office and more of his bedroom. He stopped sleeping with them three weeks ago.

He hasn’t quite fallen out of love with them. Brian doesn’t know if he can.

“Maybe you should all have a good sit down. Talk about it.”

“Piss off,” Brian growls.

“I’m just trying to help. If you let it _fester, _then I worry about what it means for you.”

Brian shoves off the wall barely resisting the urge to flick Prenter off. He doesn’t need to listen to what he says. Brian already knows it is true. All he wants to do is hold it long enough that he can find a new place to stay. There’s a mansion in Surrey that he’s fallen in love with. Spacious. No one knows about it.

_You’re a coward, Brian May. _No, he shakes his head, he is just trying to protect what little of his heart he has left. Brian doesn’t know where he is going, but by the time he figures it out the anger has fizzled into exhaustion and he is standing outside of a bar.

The status quo.

This time though, he’s not going to call anyone to come to pick him up. If he dies in a ditch, so be it. Brian shakes his head, grimacing at his own train of thought. He knows that he should call Roger, but part of him wonders if Roger is just going to get angry like he usually does when Brian lets slip those thoughts.

It used to happen a lot when they were younger, and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Doctorate or Queen? The choice seems clear, now that he has ten years’ worth of hindsight. 

Still, Brian inhales sharply and opens the door. It’s midday, so only a few people are inside. A group of men smoking and playing cards, the waitress and bartender, the cook, and himself. He looks again, checking the space for Paps. They tend to have a habit of being everywhere, and he rather have a few minutes to himself before being plastered to every tabloid with him being a sad drunk.

He slides into the booth out of sight from the door. Brian has no idea where he is at, so chances are, no one else does either, and isn’t that a sad statement on their relationship? If he cares to think too abstract about it. The waitress comes over, excited and worried. Brian offers a tiny polite smile, but he can’t feel any of his manners push to the surface.

“What can I get you?”

“Drunk,” he murmurs, “just bring me a shot glass and a bottle of vodka.”

The waitress doesn’t look thrilled, but when Brian digs out the bills from his wallet, she doesn’t say anything else. A few minutes later she sets a freshly opened bottle and shot glass on the table. He nods.

When her back is turned, he downs two shots in quick succession. The burn makes him cough. He pours another one and takes it too. After a few minutes, a familiar haziness settles over him. It’s enough to dull the rest of the building anger.

The fourth shot goes down just as easy. He rests his head on the table. Smeared with fingerprints and a few crumbs from a chip basket. Brian rubs his finger along the tabletop before sitting back up and pulling directly from the bottle. His eyes water and he wipes them.

It’s the drink he tells himself, and then carefully pushes the thought away that if his band cared about him, they’d start looking for him right about now.

Time starts to blend together, and half the bottle is gone. He is working on getting down to two-thirds when someone approaches the table. It’s a man, long hair just tickling his shoulders and carefully groomed beard. Brian remembers him vaguely. He had a piece written on him in a rock magazine. Their band is supposedly gaining traction in the German circuits.

“You’re Brian May?”

Brian rolls his eyes, “that’s what they tell me.”

“Fantastic, mind if I sit?”

He shrugs and takes another pull from the bottle. Ah, there’s the two-thirds he’s been looking for. The man in front of him blurs and Brian gets the distinct sick feeling swirling in his stomach. Brian leans forward and rests his head on his outstretched arm.

Condensation slips down the bottle. He is vaguely aware that the man is talking. About his band, about music. His true calling is the bass, but their guitarist dropped last minute, and his voice is good but not fantastic. Brian doesn’t really care. Been there, done that, became a world-famous Rockstar. He doesn’t want to think about those hungry nights.

Granted they rarely felt their empty bank accounts. Freddie’s mom taking to feeding them, and they were so drunk on love that the didn’t need anything else. Tears slip down his face. God, he misses those days.

“And it’s a shame that Queen’s fallen out of love with you,” the man pats the back of his hand.

Brian sits up straight. He clutches a hand over his mouth. He isn’t sure if it’s to keep the sob or sick in. The man raises an eyebrow, raising his hands carefully.

“Sorry, I meant your guitar work.”

No. They _don’t _love them anymore. If they did, he wouldn’t have to feel like a ghost in his own home. John and he wouldn’t dodge around each other in the hallway where John used to simply pin him to the wall and kiss him. Roger’s teasing wouldn’t have any meanness to it, just an impish smile that would make Brian kiss him quiet. Freddie wouldn’t tut at him and tell him to calm down but take him in his arms and coo that everything would be alright.

They’ve fallen out of love and it’s so obvious that a stranger can see it.

Brian bites the skin of his hand to not cry.

“We’ve all heard about the creative differences. Disco? On a Queen album?”

They’ve gotten near the genre before, worked on it to make it more their own. Brian shakes his head as the ground pitches again. How would some new kid know what Hot Space is going to be? They haven’t mentioned it yet. Someone leaked it.

Maybe the band leaked it. To get people interested in the fall of Queen, give Brian an out so they don’t have to kick him out with no hope of getting another band. Brian doesn’t know if playing guitar without Queen is worth it. He shakes his head. If he loves anything in this world (outside of Queen) it’s playing guitar. Second best is nearly the best.

He doesn’t think they’d risk their album for a slight like this though.

Brian leans back against the seat to keep himself from tipping over. It didn’t seem like it had gotten that bad. No, he needs to talk to them. He pushes himself up from the booth, and the only thing that saves him from hitting the ground is the other man slipping his hands under Brian’s armpit.

“Whoa, buddy,” the man says, he glances over his shoulder, “you don’t look too good.”

Brian closes his eyes, but the room keeps spinning making everything worse.

“Let’s go back to our studio, get you some rest, maybe in a bit you can hear how we sound. See if you would like to sing and play for us.”

He nods. The small part of his head, telling him that he’s still Queen’s guitarist. For how long? This man at least seems interested in hearing what he wants to contribute. Something that’s been a struggle this entire year.

The man lets out a loud whoop and slides his Brian’s arms over his shoulder. He presses his mouth tightly together. Too much movement. He is going to be sick. They start walking slowly towards the door. Brian is mostly stumbling, and the man is struggling, not that Brian is heavy, but he’s long.

Seconds before they’re grabbing the handle, the door opens. Brian squints at the brightness flooding the bar. The guy holding him steps back, but after a second Brian’s eyes focus on three very familiar shapes. Roger’s lips are pressed together, and his knuckles are white against where he is pulling on the fabric of his jacket. Brian can’t tell if he is angry or devastated.

He used to be able to tell Roger’s mood by the way his eyes twitched.

Brian lets his eyes drift to Freddie, who is resting on his toes, but a friendly smile plastered to his face. His eyes are puffy and he’s wearing the jacket that Brian keeps forgetting to bring home with him after they’re done at the studio.

Then there’s John, who is passive. Arms handing at his side and a curious expression on his face. Brian feels himself shrinking back. Even if this is somehow a coincidence. He knows exactly what this looks like.

There’s a part of him that wants them to jump to conclusions and end this now. It’s better than their love end because of a lie than no reason at all.

“Brian,” Roger says, and all the tension bleeds out of him.

He feels his arm lift automatically but he wills it back to his side. The blue eyes widen and then the emotion is cut from them, glancing towards the man holding him upright. Brian doesn’t think that he could stand alone.

“Hello,” John says.

The man steps back again at John’s cool tone. Brian is used to it, but he hates that he feels like he also needs to move away. Now he doesn’t have anyone holding him up and he starts to tip forward a bad mixture of drunkenness and emotions. Freddie moves the quickest, catching his arms and pulling him back over to them. Brian lets it happen.

He is too tired to fight it.

Except he does, because his automatic response wants him to sink into Freddie’s strong arms and warm chest. He twists and tries to get his feet under him. Freddie tightens his grip in response. Brian bites his lip and looks down. There is one thing that he can do, but he doesn’t know what it would do to the skeleton of their relationship.

Freddie coos sweet nothing into his hair when Brian goes slack. Like he said, what’s the fucking point?

Roger’s hands are on his face pushing his hair back and trying in vain to get Brian to focus on him. The hands are quick and urgent, and he can feel a fine tremble to them. It’s the only thing that makes him look up. Gone is the sleepy blue gaze and in its place is something urgent and afraid.

“Brimi,” Roger whispers.

When he doesn’t respond the drummer taps once on his cheek, “Brian.”

“Thank you for watching out for Brian,” John says.

The edge of politeness makes the hair prickle on the back of his neck. Brian swallows unsure of what he would see if he were to look.

“Hey, Brian, I need you to look at me,” Roger whispers harsher, “did he give you anything?”

“And while we’re honored, currently none of us are looking for outside projects,” John continues, “we’ve, ah, found where the miscommunication came from.”

That does make Brian react. He tenses and shoves out of Freddie’s arms who barely has time to tighten them. Brian spins around, the room keeps on spinning. His eyes close to try and steady himself but it feels like he is in a canoe in a hurricane.

“Brian?” Freddie calls.

It’s soft and it reminds him so much of the mornings when Freddie had no place to go and kept calling one of his boyfriends back to bed. He bites the inside of his cheek; he might be weak but right now he needs to stand his ground. This hurt he feels, he knows it can’t keep going, it’s digging under his skin pressing against his ribs, going for his heart.

If he falls back into them, he isn’t going to have anything left of himself.

“We should go back to the hotel,” Roger tries, “let you sleep this off, hm?”

“Talk about it in the morning?” John adds.

Brian keeps his eyes closed, but one devastating pitch of the ground sends him to his knees. He presses hard against his stomach and his fingernails dig into the skin around his mouth and he holds back everything. _Talk about it in the morning, _they say, like he hasn’t been trying to get them to expose everything for the past few months.

Right now, he has them, and if they don’t talk now, they’re never going to. Brian scrapes together what coherency and bravery he has and sucks in a sobering breath.

“No.”

It is sharp and clear, and most importantly steady. He trains his eyes on a knot in the wood floor just in front of Roger’s sparkly trainers. John’s sneaker, which was lifted in a step goes back down. Freddie is still on his toes like he is expecting a fight.

Fine. He has one last fight in him.

“No, I’m not going with you.”

“Brimi?”

“I can’t.”

He presses his hand tighter against his stomach. It feels like his lungs are barely moving. The dizziness comes from lightheadedness rather than drunkenness. Brian pulls the shambles of his temper and what little stubbornness that hasn’t been eroded away. There’s just enough emotion in him that it lights the spark.

“I won’t,” he says, it comes out stronger.

There’s a collective inhale and Brian uses freed space, “and you do not have the _right _to come striding in here _demanding _that I go with you. Insinuating I can’t make my own choices.”  
“Brian, we’re just looking out for you.”

The words are so faint he can’t tell who uttered them.

“Now you are. What about every time before? The times I was chased out of our studio for giving an opinion, any opinion? Where were you every time I had to take a breather in the bathroom only to end up on the floor trying to remember how to fucking breathe?”

“You haven’t been looking out for me for months,” Brian spits.

“Okay let’s clear out,” someone says in the background.

“Brian, you should have come to us.”  
That’s John.

The anger is snowballing.

“I didn’t think I could!” Brian shouts, “I kept getting pushed further and further to the fringe because I didn’t want to go with your asinine disco crusade, not because I hate disco but because I thought it wouldn’t be what our fans wanted.”

“You don’t get to play victim,” Roger says, “don’t act like you were perfect.”

Brian winces and folds into himself. The flame dimming. Roger is right. He had _made _them push him away too. Soft rejections of spending time together, moody compliances in the studio, and saying he wasn’t in the mood for sex. All because he was irritated about what happened in the studio. He is not perfect. Brian doubles over, both arms pressed into his stomach and forehead touching his knees.

His body is vibrating. It wants to break. He wants to break.

“I think we need to cool off,” Freddie says, “Brian, dear, if you’ll just come back to the hotel.”

“I want a room. My own room,” Brian manages to force out.

“Brian?”

“Just come have a lay, you’ll feel better.”

“Stop!” Brian shouts, “don’t you get it? I don’t want any of that right now.”

He is surprised at how quickly he feels like he has sobered up.

“We need to talk.”

“We need a break,” his voice cracks.

Brian’s eyes widen but some of the heaviness on his back lessens. That wasn’t what he meant to say, but it’s what he needed to say.

“Brian?” Roger asks, “you’re not saying – are you saying?”

“I need a break, maybe until the end of this album. Maybe the tour. But I need a break.”

“We can work through it,” John’s voice sounds strained.

“This isn’t a band decision. I need to step away. I can’t do _this _anymore. I can’t deal with the strain in the studio bleeding into our personal life and I can’t just let it go anymore when you want me back in your bed.”

He sees Roger crouch down. Brian catches his eyes and Roger does back up. His face is pale. Brian looks up to Freddie and John to see both of their faces drawn and in shock.

“It isn’t like that Brian,” Freddie says, “you want to make this work.”

“I do,” Brian agrees, “but right now it _can’t. _I’m not saying forever.”

He knows what he wants, he thinks bitterly, people need to stop telling him what he wants.

“You might as well,” John mumbles, “what about us?”

“That’s between you isn’t it?” Brian says bitterly.

“Let’s please talk about it in the morning,” it sounds like Freddie is trying for a note out of his range.

“We’ve had months to stop it,” Roger says.

All of them look at Roger, who looks like he is being walked to the gallows. One hand is under his shirt tugging at his shoulder and the other playing with the charms of his bracelets.

Roger sighs, “it’s not like this should be a surprise. We only work when we’re on the same page.”

“Roger.”

“When is the last time you said I love you, and didn’t do it out of habit or reflex, but because it felt like it always has?” Brian asks.

Freddie looks down and John’s eyes are narrowed, but both come to the same conclusion. It had been too long.

“I’ll get Jobby to get you a suite,” John swallows and moves to the public phone.

“And get me a separate car,” Brian whispers.

He prays that he means it when it’s just a break.

* * *

It isn’t like Brian thought that they could erase a decade worth of habits. John reaching out to hold his hand or Roger kissing him after an amazing show or Freddie making up songs about him. Brian knows he falls into the same habits, it’s hard to not want to curl up against John when he falls asleep or to run off with Roger into hidden corridors like schoolboys or to not gift Freddie with a solo meant for him at that moment.

But the mistakes are better than what they had. The brief awkwardness and longing for what had been are better than every poisoned barb thrown at each other. Brian slowly claws himself back to who he had been. Anita’s endless kindness and patience, those few nights that weren’t just her sleeping off the drink in his hotel room. It’s also that he didn’t lose the friendship he’s cultivated.

Roger is quick to argue with him, but their yelling devolves into silly giggles when they’ve forgotten why they were cross in the first place. John offers dry wit and endless complaints about shoving guitar solos where they don’t belong, but then he is smiling in the wings as Brian makes the Old Lady sing. Freddie pulls him to the back of whichever transportation they’re on and paints his nails (an old habit but fans love the revival of it) while they talk about rewrites and new riffs.

It takes seven months.

Brian nearly cries when he looks up at Freddie during a show and feels that soft swoop in his stomach that tells him he’s in trouble. A glance to John makes his spine light up with expectation. He paces back to Roger with his face burning in exhilaration.

He hasn’t felt that in so long. The smile is hard to fight, and he knows he can’t hide the pure joy that filters into his solo. Not that the crowd can tell, but a quick look to the wings reveals three soft smiles. They’re going to have to talk tonight. Brian swallows. He can’t expect them to take him back after he’s the one that demanded a break, but he also hopes that they do.

When they come off the stage that night, they’re high on the response of the crowd. John pulls Freddie in for a kiss by his shorts. Roger slaps his back pushing lightly. Brian lets out a soft whoosh of air.

“We’re talking tonight?”

“I’d like to,” Brian replies quietly.

“Okay. Let’s change and go to the hotel room,” Roger wrinkles his nose, “I really don’t want to party tonight anyway, those extra minutes on the solo did me in.”

Brian huffs a laugh. Roger hates being sweaty, but he never gives less than his 90% while drumming. They don’t play easy songs either.

The ride back to the hotel is charged. He sees how Crystal keeps to the edge of the seat but apparently relieved that he gets an early night. Ratty and Jobby seem to have opted for the after-party. Brian tries to not shift so obviously under the looks that the other three are sending him. It feels like the night they all confessed.

He snorts, that had been a mess.

“What’s on your mind, dear?” Freddie leans closer.

“I’m just thinking about, when we – uh,” they hadn’t spoken about their relationship _as that _during the entire break, “the night we confessed.”

Freddie’s smile is brilliant.

“Right, we ended up all blurting it out at the same time,” John laughs, “and then we had to figure out if that’s what everyone said.”

“We didn’t have to,” Roger adds, “I thought the kissing was pretty obvious.”

“That, and the fact that you kept saying it every time you kissed us,” Brian adds.

Roger had never lost that habit either. Brian clears his throat, he hadn’t lost that habit until Hot Space, but tonight isn’t the time to think about this. New beginnings. That’s what the break had been about.

“My plan worked,” Roger leans back with a smile.

“What plan was that?”

“To make you all fall in love with me, so I’d get my way with the band.”

“You’ve gotten your way?” John asks.

“There were times I had to resort to drastic measures,” Roger counters.

They arrive at the hotel. It’s second nature to drop their banter as they pass the eager paps and a few lucky fans. Brian ducks his head out of habit. Roger rolls his eyes at them, Freddie and John walk quicker into the hotel lobby where they’ll have privacy.

He takes a second to look back at the car and crowd and then to where they’re holding an elevator for him. For better or worse.

It’s an awkward elevator ride. Brian mentally writes a hundred different speeches and scraps all of them. None of them really cover anything of substance, but he feels like he needs more of a reason. Yes, he was sad and yes, the relationship wasn’t healthy for him anymore, but he hadn’t given them a chance to defend themselves.

Especially when he wasn’t the only victim.

Freddie unlocks their room, and they all separate to various furniture. It’s an old rule, from John Brian thinks, that they need to give each other proper space for when they have serious talks. Mostly because they’d either get distracted with each other or end up in a wrestling match if things got too heated.

This way they must actively end their talk to do something like that.

Brian picks the desk chair.

“How do you still manage to curl up like that?” John asks with a huff.

He shrugs and brings his knees closer. His hips scream at the action, but quiet as the stretch eases out the tightness of standing. It’s just nicer to be small, fewer things can hurt him when he’s like this.

“I think,” John starts when they’re all situated and no one has offered a word for ten minutes, “that we shouldn’t bring the past into this.”

Brian tilts his head.

“Our actions had their consequences. We’ve apologized and we aren’t there anymore.”

“You don’t think we need to clear the air?” Roger counters, “that’s what got us to that place, originally.”

“That’s picking at wounds love.”

He has nearly forgotten that they’ve been together this entire time. They had his blessing so there’s no point in dreading it now, and it isn’t as though he fucked off for seven months. He knew what happened and they knew about him.

“No,” Brian says, “we need to bury it. I say it’s a closed topic.”

Roger looks at all three of them, “new rule, we can’t bring it up _but _if it starts to cause problems it has to be talked about. I can’t do that again. I don’t want to feel a hole like that in our relationship.”

The way Roger is looking at him, Brian knows that he isn’t talking about what Hot Space broke in them.

“Agreed.”

“Seconded.”

“Of course.”

They all stare at each other again. Brian bites his cheek and clears his throat.

“I want to try this again if you’ll have me?”

“Love, we’ve wanted you to say that for ages.”

Roger and John nod their agreements. Brian raises a hand up, there’s still one more thing he needs to say.

“We all need to be better at reaching out when things get that bad. Especially myself,” Brian clears his throat, “but we can’t continuously keep breaking off.”

There is just a tiny part of him that fears what their relationship could become if one of them demands a break anytime things get rough. Brian doesn’t think that they’d abuse it, but he would rather not have the option for that.

“Relationship drama is overrated.”

Brian raises his eyebrow at Freddie.

“I didn’t say all drama,” Freddie counters.

Roger strides across the room and gently wraps his hands around Brian’s wrist. He leans down and kisses Brian on the temple. It’s barely felt and delicate. The first building block in this new home.

“I love you.”

Brian closes his eyes briefly before kissing Roger on the palm, “I love you.”

With that, Brian is nearly knocked out of the chair by Freddie who wraps around him and mostly hangs off his neck. Freddie isn’t pushing for anything, instead he seems to be attempting to imprint Brian onto him. John crouches in front of him, eyes serious. There’s regret swimming there, and Brian knows that they’ve never really spoken about back then.

Even in the context of their working relationship. He’s going to follow Roger’s rule. Tomorrow when his bravery rises with the sun. For now, it’s time to memorize lips and scent and love.

John kisses the back of his hand, then his palm and then his wrist. Brian drags John to his lips. It’s probably the gentlest kiss they’ve ever shared. Roger is squished between them, but the blond doesn’t seem to mind as Freddie somehow manages to land random kisses on his cheek.

They’re tangled together and more than likely it’s going to be boney elbows and knees trying to get out of positions that their aging bodies shouldn’t be in.

This is how Queen is supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> How was that? A little more realistic I think than just a standard make up.  
Not that there's anything wrong with that ofc, I was just curious to see if this would work out if I wrote it like that, so I can't complain too much because I like the end product. And I didn't mention Back Chat go me!  
As always, leave your thoughts and comments below, or come talk to me on tumblr.


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